Sometimes It All Goes Right
by Sottanaprima
Summary: Goniff gets to know the villagers a bit better.
1. Chapter 1

Sometimes It All Goes Right

Part 1

The silence in the common room was oppressive.

Actor, seated in his wing chair with his book open, was not reading but studying the wall opposite. Although his eyes no longer flashed with dark anger, his teeth were clamped onto the mouthpiece of his pipe and the smoke did not appear to be having a soothing effect. Chief was in his usual window seat, staring out at the verdant English landscape that was starting to turn dark grey-blue in the sunset, but it took little imagination to visualise the hackles that stood out from his strong back.

Casino knew he'd fouled up, but he didn't know how he could put it right without Goniff's presence. He realised that he'd gone too far, but the cat burglar had stormed out over two hours ago, and until he returned, Casino knew he would stay in the dog house. He cursed under his breath and tried to get comfortable by balancing partially on his side, but the position pulled his injuries and he collapsed onto his stomach again. "Look, I know it was an accident, all right? I'll make it up to him when he gets back. Okay?"

Silence.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn'ta said it."

Two pairs of dark eyes just looked at him solemnly.

"Aw, hell!" Casino gave up, and dropped his forehead onto his elbow, then raised it again to look for his cigarettes. They were on the table, out of reach, and he didn't think that now was a good time to ask a favour: he sighed, and dropped his head again.

Goniff kicked the stone as hard as he could, wishing it were Casino's face, and watched as it skittered down the hedge-lined road ahead of him, coming to rest in a murky puddle in the long shadow of a hawthorn tree. _'E'd no right goin' on at me like that, after all, it weren't my fault. 'I 'eld as many of 'em as long as I could, but there wer' too many of 'em an' I couldn't 'old 'em all. An' Casino wasn't the only one who got 'urt_... Unconsciously Goniff's hand went to his arm where, under his shirt sleeve, a bandage covered a deep cut. Morosely, he admitted to himself the Casino's injury was worse than his, but he still thought that the safecracker had gone too far, calling him that.

He kicked another stone, and watched as that one skittered even further down the dirt track. As he approached it, he saw that it had come to rest next to the verge by a group of tiny blue flowers. Forget-me-nots. A hint of a smile curved his lips as he remembered when he'd learnt to match the name with the flower. It had been early on, when they'd just become a permanent team: the Yanks weren't set up for clandestine warfare, so Garrison had got them a British training detail led by a Sergeant Major Burroughs. It turned out that Burroughs had been training SOE agents in Scotland, and Garrison's getting him and his team of sadists had been quite a coup, although the Gorillas didn't appreciate it. They'd been out for a day with Burroughs' bullshitters learning escape and evasion – and the next day, when they'd gone out on exercise, Chief had shown them how it was really done. That day he'd really enjoyed himself!

He grinned as he kicked the stone again; the orange sun came out from behind a fluffy yellow-white cloud, casting long shadows, and Goniff's mood brightened as the sun warmed his face. Born in the East End, he'd had one childhood "holiday" in the country, in Kent, picking hops. Used to grim streets with over-crowded terraced housing, no gardens, no parks, the greenness had impressed him, and now here he was, living in a posh house in the middle of all this lush greenness – and he even knew some of it by name!

A movement to his left attracted his attention, and he automatically dropped into the cover of the dry ditch that ran by the roadside. Shaking his head and grinning at his reaction, he peered through the hedge into the orchard beyond, and saw three boys, the eldest no more than fourteen, surreptitiously picking up apples from under the trees and stuffing them into shopping bags.

His grin broadened: scrumpers!

They had to be evacuees, he decided as he automatically but systematically scanned the area for dangers – and his smile faded as he spotted another hidden figure watching the boys. An older man was partially concealed by an oak tree-trunk in the hedge at the other side of orchard, and even from this distance Goniff could see that he looked angry.

Acting on impulse, Goniff sneaked his way down the ditch to where a bridge crossed it giving access to the gate to the orchard: the only other exit was over on the farmer's side, and was considerably further away. With a deliberate show of athleticism he ran the few steps up to the gate, vaulted cleanly over it, and had sprinted more than half way to the lads by the time they saw him. "Stay where you are!" he shouted, and added more softly as he skidded to a halt, "The farmer's got you bang to rights." Like rabbits caught in headlights, the lads froze, allowing Goniff to say quickly to the eldest "Just keep stumm, an' I'll try an' get you out o' this."

The youngest started to bolt, but saw the other man approaching and so darted back.

With a sly wink, Goniff let rip at them. "What the 'ell d'you think you're doin', nickin' other folks' stuff? Don't you know there's a war on an' all food's rationed? Not only are you nickin' 'is stuff, you'll get 'im into trouble with the Ministry of Food!"

Goniff pretended to notice the farmer for the first time: the man was almost apoplectic, waving his stick threateningly, his naturally ruddy face now beetroot. "You little bastards! You thievin' little buggers! I'll 'ave your 'ides for this!"

Goniff turned on his sweetest smile. "Hey, mate, that's a bit strong – you shouldn't talk like that in front of kids. An' that's all they are," he added softly, "_hungry_ kids. Give 'em a break, eh? I'll take 'em 'ome an' tell their folks what they've been up to – they won't do it again, I promise."

Much to his delight and even more to his surprise, with only a little more negotiation Goniff succeeded in getting the lads off. He sealed the deal with a handshake with the farmer, and told the three lads to follow him, which they did, still not believing their luck: they'd expected a clip round the ear at very least.

Goniff opened the gate and let them precede him: they turned to the right, so he knew straight away that they were billeted in the village.

"Where you lot from, then?" he asked conversationally.

"Round 'ere."

"No you aint – you're 'vacuees. Where you from?"

"Lunnon."

"Which bit?"

"'Oxteth."

"'Onest? That's where I'm from."

"Why you wearing Yank uniform then?"

"'Cos I'm in the Yank Army."

"Hey, mister – you at that big 'ouse up on the 'ill – that secret place?"

"I'm based there, yeah."

"What they do there?"

"No idea, mate – I'm just one of the guards. They don't even tell us what goes on there." It was their standard answer that Garrison had drilled into them early on.

"What you called?"

"Me? Rodney. My mates call me Rod. An' you?"

"Andy."

"Pete."

"Keith."

"Banjo!" chorused Andy and Pete.

"Where you billeted?"

Andy, the eldest, considered making a run for it, but he knew that Banjo wouldn't be able to keep up, and you didn't leave your mates in lumber. "Tante Yvette's."

"Where?"

"Tante Yvette," echoed Pete. "She's French. She's barmy 'n' all."

"Why'd'ya say that?"

Pete was lost for words, so Andy stepped into the breach. "She does daft things. An' she dun't understan' English."

"D'you understand French?"

"Naw."

"That make you barmy?"

"Naw!"

"So she's a bit different from us. That dun't make 'er barmy. An' anyway, I thought that's why we're fightin' this war."

The boys looked at him askance.

"The Jerries want everybody to be like them an' do everything their way – an' they kill anyone that doesn't. We're fightin' so that everyone can be themselves."

Perplexed, Andy decided to change the subject. "'Ow d'you know we're 'vacuees?"

"Dead simple, mate. Them apples you were nickin' – they're cookers. Cookin' apples. Why d'ya think the local kids don't nick 'em? Only thing you'd get from them is bellyache an' the squitters."

They were now in the village, and the boys automatically turned into the drive of their house, not realising that they were giving Goniff precisely the information he needed without his asking for it.

The Old Vicarage was one of the bigger properties in the village, a smart double fronted detached house with a semicircular drive, so it had two entrances from the road, and a garage at the side. It was well maintained, and the wealth required to maintain it hinted that it was the property of someone rich who could afford to move his family out of the city and into the comparative safety of the countryside.

As they approached the front door it opened and a very smart looking, attractive woman in her mid-thirties stood on the threshold: she was of medium height, with a trim figure shown to advantage by expensive clothes that were still smart despite wartime wear, and her rich brown hair was carefully coiffed and anchored by a tortoiseshell comb. She was the epitome of chic, and Goniff wondered how they'd all missed her before. Unconsciously his spine straightened, his shoulders went back and his smile softened. "Tante Yvette?"

"Oh, what have they done now?" Her voice was quite low and the French accent made the sound enchanting. "Oh, boys, why can't you behave yourselves? What have you done now?"

"Caught 'em scrump – stealin' apples from the farm up the road." Goniff grinned. "The farmer caught 'em too, but we managed to sort it out, didn't we, lads?" The three miscreants nodded and mumbled their agreement. "An' they've promised not to do it again, an' I think they'll keep that promise. Won't you, lads?" Goniff's smile at them was accompanied by another wink, and they agreed again but with more enthusiasm this time. "Now go on, off you go in the garden while I talk to Tante Yvette."

The door had hardly closed behind them before Tante Yvette murmured, "Thank you so much, Mr – er..."

"I'm Rodney – my friends call me Rod." He could see she felt awkward, preferring to use his surname as convention required, so he quickly moved the conversation on. "'Ow long 'ave you 'ad 'em? The boys?"

"Since March only." She sighed. "They so want to stay together and I am the only one with room for all three of them. They are such a handful..."

Goniff grinned, hearing echoes of his mother in those words. His reply was an echo of her as well: "Well, love, boys will be boys!" He pasted on his best lady-killer smile. "An' the 'olidays are the worst, aint they? What they need is a bit of distraction. I don't get much time off, but when I do – can I come an' take 'em out? Y'know, show 'em the countryside an' tell 'em what's what?"

That she smiled in bewildered delight at the offer suggested that she was very near the end of her tether with them. "Oh, would you? I should be so grateful!"

Imagining how grateful she could be sent a shiver down Goniff's spine. "My pleasure, love." He suddenly bethought himself and glanced at the long case clock. "Lissen, I gotta go now – duty calls. Don't know when I'll be able to get back – but I promise I will. Okay?"

Despite herself, Tante Yvette warmed to this happy young man with the cheeky smile and the honest manner. "Okay," she agreed.

Casino looked directly at Actor until the conman looked up. "Pass me a smoke?" There was just enough belligerence in the request for Casino to think that he'd not lost face by making it.

Actor sighed and relented slightly: he passed the pack of cigarettes to Casino, shaking it slightly so that a couple of cigarettes slid forward. Casino took one of them and tapped one end on his thumb nail before placing it in his mouth, then lit the other end from the match that Actor proffered. He took in a deep lungful of nicotine-laden smoke before grunting his thanks.

Actor sighed again. He felt for the safecracker's loss of dignity, but even that didn't excuse his words to Goniff. Those words had been vicious; and sadly Actor realised that four years ago they would've been nearly true. But not now.

All three heads lifted as the front door slammed, but they dropped again as they recognised Garrison's step on the stairs. The door opened and Garrison half-entered the room: instantly attuned to the atmosphere, he read the messages being broadcast by both Actor and Chief's faces, and complied. With a twitch of his head towards the door, he ordered his second to a conference.

Instead of going to his office, he led the way down to the kitchen and busied himself making a pot of coffee while Actor sat at the table in silence, his pipe now gripped less tensely as his jaw moved with his thoughts.

Garrison placed a cup of coffee in front of the silent man, then straddled a chair, rested his forearms its back and his chin on his arms. "Okay, give."

Actor sighed again, and focussed on Garrison's face. "Casino has had a very trying day. He took it out on Goniff."

"Where is Goniff?"

Actor shrugged. "He took off about two – no, two and a half hours ago."

"On wheels?"

"No – on foot. I suggest we go to the Doves to look for him, and if he isn't there, then we should come back here separately by the various routes."

"What did Casino say?"

"Really, Warden, I don't think you want to know. It was bad, it was unwarranted, and even Casino admits that it was quite untrue. His pride is hurt, and he lashed out as he always does without thinking of the consequences." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Warden, I think it might be – diplomatic - if we kept the - location - of Casino's injuries between ourselves." The Warden tilted his head questioningly. "I think any – teasing – will cause him to react violently." He paused again before adding, "I think he considers this a major affront to his dignity. He is unsure how to recover it."

Garrison couldn't resist. "Well, he sure won't take it sitting down –"

"That is precisely what I mean! " Actor's tone softened. "He needs gentle handling to restore his self-esteem." A pause. "I think it will help if we keep this between ourselves."

"You feel sorry for him?"

Actor nodded curtly.

"Even after he's upset Goniff?"

"Upsetting Goniff is only part of the problem. The real problem is Casino and his short fuse."

Garrison sighed. He was dog-tired and he really needed an early night. "The Doves, you reckon?" He drank down the last of his coffee and was rinsing their mugs when a tuneful whistle was heard approaching, and then the front door opened, and the whistling became louder.

Actor made it to the hallway first. "Goniff!" The pickpocket turned at the bottom of the stairs as Chief appeared silently at the top. "Are you alright?" Even as he spoke the question Actor knew that it was superfluous: Goniff's sunny nature was obviously restored.

"Yeah – I'm fine. 'Ow's grumpy chops?"

Actor diplomatically lowered his voice. "Casino is regretting his outburst."

"Good." His smile faded. "Lissen – I was thinkin' – well, I know – I reckon it could've 'appened to any of us, an' – , well, I reckon we should keep quiet about it. It'll only mean covering for 'im for a few days. What dja think?"

The following morning, refreshed by his good night's rest, Garrison indulgently allowed the cons to sleep in while he went for a run around the lake and under the trees along the riverbank as far as the bridge. He paused there to catch his breath, enjoying the beautiful summer morning. This spot had become one of his favourite places; he rested his arms on the upstream parapet and watched the water running towards him under the variegated greens of willow, beech, ash and sycamore. The upstream side had the deeper water, and he could see the rainbow trout, their noses pointing upstream and their tails just waving to hold them in position. He counted seven.

With a deep breath, he bent down and picked up a stray twig; he dropped it over the parapet into the water, then moved easily to the downstream parapet to watch it emerge from under the bridge.

The view from this side was more open, the trees thinning out on both sides as the stream ran into the lake. He knew that the view was man-made, conceived by some famous landscape gardener a couple of hundred years ago when the cost of diverting a river was comparatively cheap, but, standing on the bridge, taking in the view looking down the river, over the lake and up to the manor house, his soul was soothed and his resolve renewed.

On the downstream side stones had been thrown into the stream to create a natural weir to oxygenate the water before it entered the calmer lake. He was delighted to see a dipper swoop in and perch on a rock in the middle of the rough, foamy area, and then it dived into the fast-flowing stream and came up with something in its bill. Garrison watched it for a few minutes more until it flew off, unaware that it had made the Warden's day. Chief had told Garrison about the dipper, and also that there was a kingfisher about too, but Craig had never seen the latter. He was quite happy to have seen the brown and white bird.

He heard then the sound that had disturbed the bird, and realised that he wasn't the only person who'd decided to run that morning. He entertained the idea of hiding for a split second only.

Unconsciously tightening his jaw, he looked upstream to see which pair of soldiers was going to disturb his peace, and relaxed when Chief ran into view, followed closely by Actor. He smiled when they diverted towards him, and noted that they both ran easily and with an economical style that had them covering the ground deceptively quickly. He made a mental note that they both seemed to be fit enough. They slowed to a walk to join him on the bridge, Chief on his left and Actor on his right, both mirroring his stance as they rested their forearms on the parapet and gazed out over the water.

As nothing needed to be said, no-one said it.

Eventually Actor stood up and began to rub his cooling muscles, and the others took their prompt from him. Garrison felt obliged to become business-like again. "How's Casino?"

Expecting a medical report from Actor, he got instead one from Chief: "Quiet."

Garrison grinned mischievously. "So he's sick."

Both men laughed in their own way at the joke. "I took him coffee and checked him before we came out," Actor said. "He will be fine in a couple of days."

"And Goniff?"

"I took him tea," said Chief. "He drank it, then went back under the bedclothes."

"I've told Gil to spread his detail out over Brookfield, Nightingale and Hollowtree Farms for the next couple of days to help with harvest. It's probably still a bit early, but I've told 'em to check the machinery over." Both men nodded sagely. "Y'know, if it was anyone's fault, it was mine..."

"Warden!"

"No way!"

"I had the wire cutters!"

"Warden, even Casino recognises that it was no-one's fault. Razor wire is notoriously unpredictable, especially when released from tension – "

"And he's 'pologised to Goniff – heard him promise to take him to the Doves when he's fit again."

"So – peace reigns again?"

"For now," Actor smiled.

"So – that leaves me with just one problem." The Warden looked at the two quizzical expressions. "What the hell do I put in the report?"


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes It All Goes Right

Part 2

"Whaddya mean, y've never climbed a tree?"

"Not 'llowed," piped up Banjo.

"So since when did that stop ya?"

All three lads looked up at Rod with pained expressions. They had thought they'd found a friend, but he clearly just didn't understand...

They were in the woods about a mile away from the village, following the river bank. They'd paddled in the water, lifting stones looking for fish and river shrimps – until Goniff had made this startling discovery.

"We aint 'llowed in the river neither," volunteered Pete.

Goniff paused, sock half on. "Look, apart from us four, who else knows what we've been up to?" Three pairs of shoulders shrugged. "'Ave we hurt anybody? Damaged anything? Left any evidence at all?" He watched the shoulders shrug again. "So 'ow the 'ell is anybody gonna know?"

Three faces started to smile broadly. Perhaps they had found a friend after all.

Two hours later they returned to The Old Vicarage tired but happy, with Goniff's admonition never to leave any evidence anywhere still ringing in their ears. They obligingly went out into the garden while Tante Yvette got Goniff a bottle of beer and a glass, leaving him alone with her at last.

Half an hour later he left the house a sadder but wiser man, having heard the bare bones of Tante Yvette's history. Her husband was a major in the Engineers, captured at Dunkirk and now rotting in a POW camp in Niedersachsen. She had a daughter, Lisette, who was currently stationed somewhere up in Scotland, possibly near Elgin, doing secret work that involved using her French – she'd had been brought up in France and was bilingual. When war broke out she'd had a mother and her two daughters billeted on her for about a month before they went back to London, convinced that it would never happen. Then when the Blitz had started, more evacuees had arrived in the village, and she'd taken in another mother and her two daughters, and they'd stayed for over three years. She'd managed to avoid the Billeting Officer for almost three months, but they'd caught up with her and insisted that she "do her bit" by taking on the three boys, whom she now thought had been moved around quite a bit because no-one could deal with them. And there was so much war work to be done: her WVS work took up so much of her time... Sadly, Goniff decided that he and Tante Yvette lived in completely different worlds, and he didn't think he was ready yet to join her world of afternoon tea, cucumber sandwiches and mindless gossip.

"Hey!" Goniff jumped out of his reverie. "You Rod?"

He realised that he was nearly out of the village, walking up the road which led to the Estate; he was passing the allotments, and a figure in blue overalls and wellingtons was hailing him. Only the voice told him that it was a woman, but when she straightened up from whatever she was doing he could see that she was the right shape, and when she took off her flat cap long wavy brown hair tumbled to her shoulders. They both walked towards the hedge that parted them: as she got closer he noted that she was smallish, with laughing blue eyes, and her hair had fallen over one eye Veronica Lake fashion.

"Yeah, I'm Rod. Oo are you?"

"I'm Marje – I live just down the road from Mrs Crabtree." Goniff looked mystified. "Tante Yvette," she clarified. "Just wanted to say thanks for sorting the boys out – you've made a big difference." Goniff started to demur, but she overrode him. "Mrs Crabtree tries to wrap 'em up in cotton wool, an' they get bored, bless 'em. They've been a lot better since you've been around." She smiled cheekily. "You gonna keep it up?" Realising the innuendo, she blushed prettily. "I mean, you gonna keep seeing the lads? You're really helpin' 'em a lot, you know. They're nearly civilised already."

Goniff laughed because he couldn't believe his luck.

He helped her pack her vegetables into her shopping bag, and offered to carry it back to her billet. On the way to the little cottage she explained that she shared it with another girl who worked at the same factory on the outskirts of the county town nearby. When Goniff asked what she did, she burst into song: "I'm the girl that makes the thing..." He joined in, and they alternated between arguing over the words and singing in unison. Then he was in Marje's tiny kitchen, helping her to store the vegetables he'd just helped her harvest, chatting as if they were old friends who'd just met up again.

He explained to her that his job – guarding the base – meant that he sometimes had to take stuff to other bases, and he never got much notice of when he had to go away, but he'd try to get back the following night and take her out to the Doves for a drink. Chancing his arm, he pecked her cheek on his way out of the door: she shooed him out, laughing and calling him a cheeky young whippersnapper, but when he turned to close the garden gate she waved at him shyly.

As he walked back to the Estate he whistled, and he walked taller than Actor.

The next evening Goniff felt guilty that Casino was injured – for all of two seconds. Actor had managed to get a forty-eight hour pass from the Warden, and had departed for London the previous day with an overnight bag and an unholy gleam in his eye. Chief was out in the grounds with his knife and a piece of wood, enjoying the peace. Casino was moving about, but still could not lie or sit properly, and he was now having trouble walking too: the Warden had reported that Casino had a badly twisted ankle, and had insisted that said ankle should be bandaged for a while to add verisimilitude to the lie, particularly since he wanted the Sergeant Major to believe it.

Garrison offered Goniff and Chief forty-eight hour passes as well, but both refused, preferring to spend the time in familiar surroundings where they knew where to find what they sought. But this gave Goniff and Chief forty-eight hours of unofficial free time, and when Actor returned the Warden put them on a reasonably relaxed training schedule for the following few days, relying on Actor to guide them through a new batch of German uniform insignia that had recently come through and Chief to give them some tracking practice combined with cross country running.

So Goniff had no trouble getting leave to go to the Doves for several nights on the trot. By the end of the week he'd decided privately that Marje should be in one of those newsreels that they showed before the main film, the ones designed to boost morale.

That first night he'd taken her to the Doves, and they'd sat in the deserted Snug chatting over half-pints of warm, watered beer followed by port chasers, secure in the knowledge that their conversation would be inaudible in the Bar. As her shift started at 8am, he'd walked her home early, remaining on the road to close the gate between them and calling his good night as she opened her door. He hoped he'd caught a glimpse of disappointment in her eye as she waved to him.

On subsequent nights he'd had to evade Actor, Chief and later even Casino's offers of company at the Doves, and was glad that Marje declared that, as she'd spent all day cooped up in the factory, she needed a breath of air. They'd walked along the riverbank, and he learned more of her history while selectively disclosing his own: the bit about the Yank uniform was easy, but she seemed to understand that he couldn't talk about what he did for the war effort, so told him a little more about herself.

On the Friday night she told him that her dad had run off with the woman from the corner shop when she was two, so she was an only child, and her mum had brought her up, taking in washing and doing cleaning jobs to support them both. She'd left school and got a job in an ironmonger's. Ironically, her mum had had an easier time when war broke out: with the men gone and war work to do, some women were quite happy to pay Mrs Walker a couple of bob a week to drop off and pick up their kids from school and mind them until they got home. Marje had left the ironmonger's and got a better paid job in a factory that produced aircraft parts, and when they'd asked her to transfer she'd been excited at the adventure of leaving home. So she hadn't been there when her home had suffered a direct hit. Goniff didn't have to ask about her mum: the tears said it all, and he held her gently for a few moments, rubbing his cheek in her hair, while she recovered herself. They continued their walk holding hands.

It was dusk when they got back to her cottage, and now he was in the habit of taking her right up to the door. For a few seconds she went quiet, and he guessed she was working out how to tell him no, so he decided to let her off the hook. "See ya t'morrow?"

She turned and looked up at him, her eyes serious. "Mary's in." He nodded, and bent to kiss her cheek again. He was delighted when her arms went around his neck and pulled his face to hers; he kissed her mouth gently, not wanting to push his luck. She looked up at him, and he recognised the hunger in her eyes. "You can do better than that," she challenged, so he put his heart into it, and she did the same.

"Tomorrow," she breathed. "Mary's going home for the weekend. I'll cook your tea."

Walking back to the Estate Goniff couldn't remember his feet touching the ground.

Actor, Chief and Casino were at the toast and marmalade stage when Goniff bounced into the kitchen, and they had to smile at his evident happiness.

"Okay, Limey, who is she?"

Goniff threw a rasher of bacon into the frying pan. "Oo's oo?"

"It hardly requires a Campion to deduce that you have found a woman." Remembering the Cockney's behaviour over the previous couple of days, Actor added, "Perhaps a very special woman."

Goniff turned his bacon and cracked an egg into the pan before turning to grin at the conman. "Y'know, y'could be right."

"So, who is she?" Casino asked again.

Goniff continued to baste his egg.

"We could always torture him 'til he tells," Casino advised the others.

Goniff waved the breadknife in Casino's direction before cutting a couple of doorstops off the loaf.

"Or we could break both his legs," Casino continued.

Goniff pushed one of the doorstops into the frying pan to soak up the fat, then transferred it to his plate, putting the rasher of bacon and the egg on top of the fatty bread. He sat down in his usual chair and accepted with a nod of thanks the cup of coffee Chief had poured for him. He picked up his knife and fork and looked around the table at his friends. "'Er name's Marjorie. She's from 'Ackney. An' she's a little belter." Then he attacked his breakfast with his usual enthusiasm.

"Is that it? Is that all you've got to say?" Goniff continued to munch away at his breakfast. In comic despair, Casino turned to the others: "So what the hell's a little belter?"

"However you define it, it seems to suit Goniff to the ground."

Goniff looked up from his plate. "'Ere, Actor, d'you know there's a French woman living in the village?" Actor's eyebrows raised in interest. "Mrs Crabtree, known to the locals as Tante Yvette. She's married, but 'er 'ubby's a POW. I reckon she's a bit of a fish out o' water 'ere – she's into books an' art an' opera an' all that sort o' stuff."

"And how did you make her acquaintance?"

"She's got three lads billeted on 'er – caught 'em scru – nickin' apples. Been takin' 'em off 'er 'ands for a couple of hours when I get the chance. Nice lads," he grinned, "but I reckon she'd rather 'ave the peace an' quiet than the thirty bob." He looked round, and finally noticed that one of their team was missing. "Where's the Warden?"

"Headquarters," supplied Casino. "Some meeting with the brass. Lit out early, not back 'til late."

"Great. Promised the lads I'd show 'em how to get some backspin on a cricket ball – anyone fancy coming with me? We could 'ave dinner at the caff."

"Do we get to meet the belting Marjorie?" demanded Casino.

"Naw – she's at work. We're off out t'night." He didn't mention that they were staying in and that he was on a promise, but his smile broadened as he thought of it.

Garrison returned to the Manor house at half-past three to find it deserted. He couldn't even find the Sergeant Major and his men, and the guard detail told him that the cons had left after breakfast and Gil and his men had gone to round them up after lunch. Already angry because of the nature of the mission he'd just been given, he transferred that anger to his missing men. Stowing his briefcase in his safe, he stormed back downstairs, climbed back into the jeep and headed off to the Doves, seething.

When he got there the pub was, of course, closed, but he could hear shouting and calling from round the back of the building, so he followed the path round and was surprised to find himself joining a throng of excited people. The chairs and tables had been brought out of the pub and arranged on the flagged yard, but everyone, without exception, was standing by the low wall looking onto the cricket field, yelling encouragement at the men on the field.

The Warden did a double take at the men who were scattered around the field: there were a number dotted in a seemingly haphazard way, but Casino, Chief, Gil and one of his detail were crouched down in a near circle around a man with a bat, their hands cupped in front of them. The batsman was standing sideways in front of three sticks, gently patting the ground behind his feet with his bat while looking expectantly beyond the other end of the playing area. At the other set of sticks a second batsman and an umpire waited. Beyond them and walking even further away towards the distant boundary of the field was the object of the batsman's attention. As Garrison watched, the walker turned, rubbed something on the fabric of his pants, then began to run towards the other players. Garrison's attention focussed in on the runner: he was not surprised to recognise Goniff.

Goniff ran almost to the umpire and the second batsman by the stumps, did a hoppety-skip, and with a windmill action sent a red ball searing through the air towards the batsman. It bounced just short of him, and seemed to veer off at an angle. The batsman struck out at the ball but misjudged its trajectory: he clipped it, and Chief took the catch in a dive, rolling over to stand up with the hand holding the ball triumphantly raised.

"Owzat?" The shout came from nearly every man on the field who understood what was going on.

The little crowd erupted.

The umpire pointed skywards, but the stumps were already being drawn. The two batsmen met up to walk towards the crowd together, shaking their heads in disbelief, but the other men on the field converged on Goniff and Chief, slapping them on the shoulders and whooping out loud in delight.

"We appear to have won." Actor's voice appeared at his shoulder.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Goniff has just brought about the village's first success of the cricket season. And the season finishes today."

"How the – !" Garrison shook his head in despair.

Aware of his surroundings, Actor dropped his voice so that only Garrison could hear. "Warden, if the Germans come looking for us now, the whole village will come out to defend us. 'Rodney' is the hero not only of the hour, but of the year and possibly for years to come. He may even become a local legend."

The putative legend paused on the field to shake Andy's hand: Andy had been another of the newcomers who had been press-ganged into the scratch team, while Pete and Banjo had been 'helping' the scorer. Goniff's delaying tactic allowed the visiting team time to form two lines on either side of the gate to the pub garden, and Goniff led 'his' shabbily dressed team off the field through the honour guard of perfectly attired, applauding opponents.

Flanked by his friends and with the Sergeant Major in tow, he strolled up to the Warden and Actor, his face beaming with delight. "'Ello Wa – Lef – Lootenant! Didja see it?"

In the face of such happiness, Garrison felt his anger dissipate. "Yeah, I saw it. I take it you did a good job?"

A man fought his way through the crowd and pushed a pint into Goniff's hand, beamed, patted him on the shoulder, then disappeared back into the crowd. Goniff raised the glass in toast, downed the pint in one, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "I needed that. Bloody 'ell!" He'd just remembered where he'd seen his benefactor before: at dusk in an orchard.

Chief pushed his way to Goniff's side, his pint hardly touched and his face serious. "We got a job?" he asked softly.

Garrison nodded curtly.

Casino said softly, "Shit."


	3. Chapter 3

Sometimes It All Goes Right

Part 3

The four cons were already seated around the table when Garrison arrived. Chief pushed a mug of coffee towards him, which the Warden acknowledged with a nod before extracting the map and photographs from his briefcase. "The job's simple: we've got to blow up a radio mast – a pylon."

"And the catch?" asked Casino belligerently.

"Three catches."

"Send Geronimo," Casino interrupted. "He's good at catches."

The Warden allowed himself a smile as Goniff and Actor groaned good-naturedly.

"Catch one: the mast is located in the grounds of the local Abwehr headquarters in Nantes. Catch two: we have a fifteen minute window in which to blow it. And catch three: there'll be a lot of similar missions mounted at the same time, so it could get pretty hot on the way out."

"This is one of a co-ordinated series?"

"That's right."

"Do we know the overall goal of these attacks?" The Warden just looked at Actor, who lifted his hands in mock surrender. "I apologise for asking."

"I guess they want to take out the communications at a particular time. I reckon it'll only take a day to replace the mast."

"So we're just a little cog in a big machine – right, Warden?"

"Right, Casino. We go in tonight by sub. We'll be dropped off here –" Garrison indicated an area south of Nantes "- and we make our way to La Bretonniere, which is a villa here –" he pointed to an area to the north of the city centre and the Loire and to the east of the Erdre river, and then to one of the photographs. "The mast has to be blown between 4.20 and 4.35am – no earlier and no later. If we don't get there in time we abort. We get out by going down to Arcachon, where a boat will take us out to a sub on Tuesday morning at oh one hundred." He paused, and looked at each of the faces. "That's the bare bones. Now let's get down to detail."

"Jesus, that don't give us much time. The villa – it's next to the river, so we gotta go east to get out. They got dogs?" Casino looked worried, seeing the worst as usual.

"Dogs, electrified fences, infra-red."

"'Ey, Warden – at twenny past four it's nearly light – 'ow we supposed to disappear when it's nearly light?"

"That's what we're going to work out." He turned to the silent member of the group. "You want to add your ten cents' worth?"

Chief pondered before he leant forward and picked out a couple of points on the map. "We set timed decoy explosions here – by the barracks - and here – next to the bridge – so we can go south over the river here. Make 'em big enough an' they might not even notice the mast bein' taken out."

"Okay, Geronimo, how we gonna deal with the dogs?"

"We know how many dogs? "

"Two."

"Loose or with handlers?"

"Intelligence says they're loose at night."

"Then we put 'nother in. Bitch on heat. At the other side of the compound from the mast."

"Where the hell do we find a bitch on heat? "

"Don't have to be on heat. Any bitch'll do."

"Story of your life, Geronimo."

Goniff thought of the date he wouldn't be keeping tonight, and went quiet for a while. But his survival instinct soon had him joining in, helping to plan their mission. Later, in his room, collecting his German uniform from his wardrobe, he looked at the suit he'd planned to wear tonight, and as he rummaged in his drawer for his underwear with the French tags he avoided looking at the underpants he'd also planned on wearing. "Christ, I 'ope she understands," he muttered to himself.

Casino stuck his head round Goniff's door. "Come on, slowcoach. The Warden's waitin'."

"Comin' – comin'."

In a little workman's hut to the south of Nantes, Garrison finished changing into his Sturmbannführer uniform as Actor entered. "Okay?"

"Fine – no problems." The shabby workmen's clothes were out of place on the tall, long-striding and vigorous man, but half an hour earlier they had been worn by a timid, exhausted refugee who was probably on the run but desperately needed food. He and his wiry blond companion had broken into the local boulangerie and liberated the supplies they needed. The limp, the exhaustion and the timorous appearance had disappeared as soon as Actor was out of sight in the woods. It had been a bravura performance that only lacked an audience to appreciate it – Actor's caution was lost on Goniff.

Garrison sprawled on a rickety chair and relaxed while he watched Actor unpack his bag and change into his SS uniform. The transformation still surprised and fascinated the Warden, even though he'd seen it innumerable times: it involved a kind of magic that somehow embodied the essence of the conman's art.

First of all, the shirt: the chin lifted to facilitate the fastening of the collar, but it failed to fall back quite to its normal level. Usually the cuffs were adjusted with a slight twitch of fastidious nostrils if the sleeves were not long enough, which was normally the case when the clothes were still warm from their former owner; today the handsome face remained bland.

The riding-britches-style trousers were next, perfectly tailored to fit the long-legged and trim-waisted Italian; the braces slipped over broad shoulders. The tall officer boots then hid the trouser legs, and toes were flexed and feet stamped lightly to ensure comfort.

Then the jacket was picked up by the shoulders and shaken before it was swirled into place, and somehow the man's shoulders, always straight, seemed straighter and somehow even smarter. The jacket buttons were fastened from the bottom up, and the fabric smoothed over the chest before the sleeves were given a tug to settle them, emphasising the martial air of the shoulders.

Next the Ritterkreuz was firmly fastened under the jacket collar and adjusted so that it was perfectly placed between the oak leaf collar insignia of Standartenführer; and the silver Ehrenring slipped onto the little finger of the left hand before the sleeves were adjusted again, more gently this time.

Soft grey chamois leather gloves were pulled on.

Finally, the two silver cords were resettled under the Totenkopf insignia before the cap was swiftly put in place and minutely adjusted. A final smooth down and a touch to the cuffs, and Actor had disappeared, and in his place stood a smart but forbidding SS General Officer with a proud, aristocratic and commanding bearing.

Then the man smiled, and the spell was broken. "Will I do?" Actor asked colloquially. He knew the Warden had watched his every move.

"Sometimes you scare the hell out of me," Garrison said as he stood up. "I've watched you do it, but it still gets to me."

"You wanted the best, Warden. You made the right choice." Actor was devoid of false modesty.

"Amen to that, but if you ever quote me, I'll deny every word. Let's go."

They slipped outside into the pre-dawn twilight, where Chief was waiting at the wheel of a stolen Mercedes staff car, a dead rabbit tucked under his seat. Seeing the two officers emerge, Goniff and Casino left their look-out posts, converging on the car: they were all keen to get on to the next part of the mission.

They got back to the Mansion on Wednesday at a bit after one in the morning. They'd made the hit on Sunday morning at 4.27am precisely, and their escape route was clear as the enemy forces focussed on the decoy explosions. Their Mercedes car had taken them to a little farm just outside Arcachon, and the farmer had the engine out of it and the whole machine broken down into spares and distributed around his contacts before the team emerged from their bivouac the following morning. They spent the day hidden in the woods, oysters, claret and grapes enlivening their usual mission fare of bread and cheese, and they made their rendezvous without mishap.

That was when things started to go wrong. It turned out that another team had been given the same rendezvous, and they hadn't made it. The British Captain decided to wait around beyond the deadline – he was waiting for a radio signal from someone shore-side, and so he took the submarine down. They waited for over twelve hours for a signal that never came, and by that time Casino was going stir-crazy. When they finally stepped back onto terra firma at Portsmouth the first thing the four smokers did was light cigarettes and chain-smoke to get their nicotine levels back to normal.

They were given a change of clothing then driven into London for debriefing. Headquarters was buzzing with uniforms of all colours and nationalities, and their debrief session was interrupted on numerous occasions as the intelligence officers were called out for urgent meetings. Garrison tried to make discrete enquiries, but they never did find out what happened to the other team. They were finally released just before midnight, and told that they would have to drive themselves back to the Mansion. As Actor had slept on the sub, he took the wheel and drove for an hour and a half through the blackout without mishap.

They were all too tired to say goodnight.

As everyone had returned relatively unscathed – give or take a few scratches and bruises – brunch was a sociable occasion. Garrison knew that the debrief would be a lively session when he was summoned to the kitchen by a piercing whistle, followed by Casino's voice yelling, "Warden! 'S goin' cold!"

They all congregated around the table, mugs of coffee to hand. In an attempt to take command of the meeting, Garrison opened as usual with, "Okay, going in," but then, unusually, he turned to his second. "Actor?"

"It went very smoothly. They seem to have picked a suitable landing place for us, and Goniff's idea of getting food early was good."

"Yeah – but the lousy Limey'd eaten it all before we cleared Nantes."

"No I didn't! We were all eatin' on the way to Arc'shn."

"Yeah – stale bread. What happened to the cheese? Some mouse get it all, did it?"

Goniff smiled mischievously. "Naw – Chiefie 'ere fired it with the rabbit over the fence at them dogs."

Casino turned on Chief. "You didn't! Why, you lousy – "

Chief just stared hard-eyed at the safecracker. Very quietly he said, "No, I didn't."

Garrison cleared his throat noisily. "Can we get back on track? Chief – getting the transport."

"Fine, Warden. The Krauts are even leavin' notes on 'em saying what's wrong – just a matter of taking a part from one an' puttin' it on another. Fact it was weekend made it easier – probably wouldn't find out 'til late Sunday mornin' at best. We were well away by then."

"So it's worth raiding a garage again?"

Chief nodded briefly.

"Casino – explosives."

"Yeah – they were good. No dud detonators; they all seemed to go off at the right time too. Maybe they got the message."

Garrison nodded. "And the dogs?"

"Yeah, yeah, it worked." His sullen expression disappeared behind a broad smile. "Still think we shoulda found a bitch."

The whole group laughed easily at the still fresh joke.

After the debrief Goniff followed Garrison into his office. Garrison suspected he knew what it was about, but he didn't let on. "What is it, Goniff?"

"Can I go out fer a coupla 'ours t'night, Warden? Got som'thin' I need to do, urgent, like."

"I understand her name is Marje – am I right?"

Goniff blushed.

"How long do you want a pass for?"

"Just a coupla 'ours. Her mate's at 'ome." Realising what he's said, he blushed again. Garrison agreed just to get him out of the room so that he could laugh.

Goniff's embarrassment didn't last long, and he bounced back into the common room where Actor was reading the Times he'd filched from Headquarters. "Ey, Actor – you fancy meetin' Tante Yvette?"


End file.
